


Skittish

by JoJo



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Early Work, Episode Related, Episode: s01e21 Coffin for Starsky, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:07:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoJo/pseuds/JoJo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The clock had ticked right around and right around again and here they were, still clinging on to each other for dear life.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skittish

**Author's Note:**

> amongst the first fic I ever posted anywhere - in this case to the [Bay City Library](http://bcl.skeeter63.org/) \- in July 2005
> 
> It is, unsurprisingly, a 'Coffin for Starsky' story. I blame this show for nearly all my hurt/comfort fic in all fandoms actually. Because not only is there 'Coffin for Starsky', 'Shootout', 'The Fix', 'The Plague' and 'Survival'... at the time I wrote this I had not yet even seen 'Sweet Revenge'...
> 
> un-beta'd and featuring one of my favourite devices at the time, the italicized inner dialogue or flashback... I resisted the huge temptation to edit it out or change it! I don't think I've ever got over using italics (or ellipsis!), but they have certainly lessened in more recent fic, in great part because they're such a pain to format :D

The clock slunk to past 4am -- the death hour -- and then around to 5. They knew now that Starsky was not going to die -- at least not that night.

Dobey went home and Dr. Frankland went off shift, but not before speaking with Hutch in the silent, pristine corridor outside the glass-fronted ICU room. Hutch stood with his chin in one cupped hand as if he could hardly hold his head up by himself, still watching the monitors through the glass, his eyes gritty with no sleep.

"Conceived by a clever scientist," Frankland said, taking off his glasses and cleaning them absently with the corner of his white coat, "to wreak a subtle havoc. You know, it is relatively simple to mix a cocktail that will kill in minutes... but to put the effort into something with such a specific time frame and effect... is beyond belief... Your perpetrator is in custody now, I understand?"

"Charged with attempted murder," acknowledged Hutch, surprised that his mouth was able to work at all, "and we may well be calling you as an expert witness when it comes to trial."

Frankland nodded, replacing the glasses. Then he said, "You, Detective Hutchinson, are in dire need of rest and sustenance. David's condition is stable right now -- you should really go home. He is deeply unconscious still, and we will keep him that way for a few hours while his system tries to recover."

"He is going to make it?" Hutch said, wanting confirmation again.

"You should notify his relations," said Frankland seriously. "His condition is serious and there are any number of complications possible. But... well, I'm hopeful. As he told me himself several hours ago... he doesn't go down so easy."

Hutch smiled to himself, a small, feeble smile. "And if there's any change?"

"You'll be called," Frankland said. "Go now."

"I'm gone," Hutch said, turning away, dragging his gaze from the pale figure on the other side of the glass. He knew it was right to be leaving, despite the twisting disbelief that things had turned out as they had.

Back in the cottage he even slept, the blank sleep of the deeply exhausted, dropping like a stone to the bottom of a dark pit and waking with a yell, falling from his bed in a flurry of bedclothes, breathing hard as if he had run a race that he knew he would lose but could not afford to abandon. He had slept without dreaming and woke confused, scrabbling to his feet, muttering to himself as the memory of yesterday washed back over him. There had been no phone call. It was nearly three o'clock in the afternoon.

He called Dobey's home number and got Edith. "Harold's still sleeping," she told him. "And I spoke to the ICU at Memorial a few hours ago. No change, they said."

"No change?" said Hutch, the phone receiver jammed into his ear as he hopped into his clothes. "What do they ever mean, no change?"

"I think it's a good sign, Ken," said Edith calmly. "Are you going down there now?"

"Yes I am. Tell the Captain I'll call."

OK, he said to himself as he got into the LTD and poked her into life. _The 24 hour clock is not ticking anymore. That's all over. We made it. It was headed somewhere different, but we made it. No clock. That's good, Hutchinson, that's good, will you stop the panicking stuff now?_ His thoughts were jumbled and tense, no calmer than they had been yesterday. _Goddamned idiot not locking his door_. That one popped into his mind unexpectedly. There had been no time to analyze the affair while they lived it. All they had done was rush through the rapidly telescoping day headlong, clutching at one straw after another. _A locked door might have stopped him._ Hutch shook his head fiercely to try and dislodge this uninvited idea, but then another one arrived from out of the same messy place. _Jeez, then the stupid idiot... he shot the guy with the answer, shot him right down... just because... just because. Damnit, Starsky. I would have handled it somehow._

Slowing at a stop-light Hutch remembered doing the same thing yesterday, when it had seemed such a waste of their precious time, remembered the weird, unwelcome conversation batting between them as they both stared straight ahead. Starsky, sitting uncharacteristically stoic at the wheel, had seemed casual. 

_Did you go on that course last year? About putting your affairs in order?_

Hutch had responded, grinding out his own casual voice... _Did you?_

Starsky had nodded, as if they were talking about something mundane. _Yeah I did, but I don't think I've got time, you know? So, uh... would you put my affairs in order?_

Hutch had very nearly laughed. _Are you kidding?..._ but his partner had ploughed on. _No really. I don't have much, to be honest. It won't tax you. You can have what you want, too, of my stuff. You know, like my music. Or then again, maybe not. And my Mom will want to keep some photos and all..._

_Starsky, will you quit it?_

_Hey, I'm serious, Hutch..._

_Me too_ , Hutch had said, finally angry and frightened. _I'm not interested in talking about your affairs. Not now, not at any time. Listen, buddy, I don't know what's going to happen, but whatever it is, we'll deal with it. I'm not wasting our time talking about this shit..._ What had Starsky said then, all wounded and hangdog? _My stuff's not shit..._ and then Hutch had laughed, a laugh that was as glad as it was painful.

Abruptly Hutch got a flash of the two of them standing over the Torino the evening before Bellamy's break-in, stiff with anger and exhaustion, aware of the audience of other police officers but unable to keep a lid on a stew of emotions that had bubbled over and surprised them. 

_You know, Starsky, this union crap with Commander Baldwin really makes you behave like a dumb prick..._

_Yeah well, Hutchinson, sometimes you are so far up your own ass..._

Tears pricked angrily at Hutch's eyes and he had to steady himself, realizing he was driving too fast, caught up in the whirlwind of thoughts. It had got worse. The insults had rushed out. 

_Starsky, I can't believe you're so stupid, you're so naive..._

_And you're an arrogant, self-centered bastard, Hutchinson..._

What were they thinking of? 

_Why don't you just leave me alone, Hutch, I don't need your intellectual bullshit!_ He hadn't meant it. Anymore than Hutch had meant it when he said _Well, you know, I don't need this either, I don't need a partner with paranoia... I don't want a partner like you..._

Hutch knew he was having some kind of weird reaction to yesterday, flashing back over all of this while trying to concentrate on getting to the hospital. Having let him sleep, now all his nightmares were coming out in broad daylight.

As he got nearer to the area round Memorial, sinking into the heavy traffic that was building up to rush hour, he saw again the look on Starsky's face when they both thought it was all over, heard the raspy whisper of his final words. 

_Don't worry... you did good for me, Hutch. You always do good for me. You stay... I need you to be there all the way. All the way, right?_ His eyelashes had flickered, his face had creased up and he had let out a sound as if something impossibly heavy had just been placed on his chest. _All the way..._ Hutch had said it into his ear but he knew that Starsky could not hear him and he had thought he never would again.

By the time he was going up in the elevator to the ICU Hutch felt weak. He passed the nurses' station in a dream, although he was vaguely aware of them directing him somewhere. He had to see Starsky breathing. He felt he did not deserve to be this lucky.

"Go right in," a female voice suddenly said in his own ear. He found himself standing outside a door. "He's had a mixed few hours but we're keeping a close eye on him. Dr. Frankland said for you to go right on in."

"Mixed?" said Hutch, swerving once again back to reality.

It was a different doctor standing by him, a woman. "Hello, you must be Detective Hutchinson," she said. "I'm Doctor Valdez. It's my watch at present. Your friend's been very sick for the last few hours, although we're doing what we can to alleviate it. Trouble is, his body absolutely doesn't want any more drugs-you can't blame it, right?" Hutch nodded wanly. "So we're just keeping watch while it all works itself through. He could do with some help." She smiled at him encouragingly.

Still shaky, Hutch opened the door and moved inside the room, taking in the familiar antiseptic smell. As he got near the bed he was taken by surprise to see Starsky lying awake, eyeballing him fiercely. "Where ya been?" he said in a thick, coated growl. His complexion was slick and grey-green, his hands were trembling on the top of the sheet.

"Asleep," Hutch admitted. "But not you, huh?"

Starsky's eyes burned at him. They were murky and off-color but they spoke as clearly as ever. 'Course you've been asleep, they said. _Sorry I grumped. Feeling kinda lousy._ "Hutch," he began and then stopped. Clearly a huge wave had just hit. All of a sudden, at last, Hutch felt clear-headed once again.

"OK, Starsk," he said calmly, slipping into the chair by the bed and taking up the nearest cold hand. "Ride it out." He felt Starsky's fingers gripping him strongly and he was glad about that. It seemed to indicate that all the grit and defiance of his partner was somehow intact.

"Gonna throw, Hutch," he said.

"'S'OK, they warned me about that. Bin there before, Starsk, it's not going to scare me."

"Ha!" Starsky grunted. He took in a deep, holding breath, trying to beat it back but it wasn't going to happen and he twisted violently sideways. Hutch got there. He moved in close, one hand flat on Starsky's middle back, and the other helping steady the basin that his friend had grappled hold of. Whatever was trying to come out was deep and harsh. Hutch could feel every sinew in Starsky's body stiffening with the effort to force it back down. "Don't fight it, buddy, it's coming anyway." His voice sounded admirably calm even though the blood was pumping in his ears. "Try and go with it... or it's gonna hurt you more... I'm here... all the way, remember?" Starsky's struggle twisted his heart. Then when it was over, there was nothing to show for all the effort and the pain except a suddenly elevated heart-rate, another attack of the shakes and Starsky groaning between his violently chattering teeth. "Lay back," Hutch told him firmly, looking up as one of the nurses came in.

"Still bad?" she said. Hutch nodded tightly. "Doctor Valdez said they could try another anti-emetic... what do you think, David? Can you handle it?"

Starsky said through gritted teeth, "Keep your goddamn needles away from me."

The nurse smiled a little. "I think he means that affectionately," she said. "Sorry to tell you we'll be pushing through some more fluid in a while, so you may have a few more hours of this to go. You can come and talk more to the doctors, Detective Hutchinson." But Starsky's hand came out like a striking cobra and clamped down on Hutch's arm.

"He's staying," he croaked. She cocked an eyebrow at him-her aim had been to give the blond man an excuse to get out if he wanted.

Hutch nodded. "We're OK," he said. "We'll see it through between us."

When the nurse had gone, he settled back down on the chair after smoothing back the damp hair from the hot, hot forehead. "How you doing now, Gordo?" He picked up a limp hand again.

Starsky did not open his eyes. The tremors had shifted down a gear and his teeth had unlocked. "Could be worse. Mighta finished last night."

"Oh, buddy," Hutch said, "Thought we'd finally dropped the ball out there."

Starsky opened one eye, reacting to the catch in his partner's voice. "Yeah well. Didn't."

"Starsky, you... I think... listen, I..."

"Oh boy," said Starsky, pulling his hand free and flapping it at Hutch warningly. "Don't start. I know what you're about to say, Hutch. Don't go there." He got the other eye open too and tried to look baleful. "Just let's do this throwing up thing for now, OK?" His eyes drifted shut again and his hand waved in space, looking for Hutch's. "Such a fun way to spend a day." When their hands met again, his shoulders seemed to relax. "Maybe we'll go there again, Hutch, but right now it doesn't matter. 'S'not important."

"Yeah," said Hutch. "You're right." His own shoulders, aching fiercely from the hours of tension, were relaxing a little now too. It was true. All the things they had said, perhaps they would come back sometime, but that was insignificant in the here and now. The PPL was still in a ferment and Commander Baldwin had not finished with them yet, but to hell with it. The clock had ticked right around and right around again and here they were, still clinging on to each other for dear life.

Starsky took a few panting breaths through the whirling nausea, then dug his nails into Hutch's palm. "Still feelin' skittish?" he murmured.

"Nah, 'm over it." Hutch gave the familiar hand a tight squeeze.

"Tell me a funny story, Hutch," Starsky said faintly. So Hutch did.


End file.
